


A Study in Brevity

by loquaciousquark



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Drabble Collection, F/M, Gen, Mostly Gen, Prompt Fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-03-25
Updated: 2007-03-25
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:20:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27773665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loquaciousquark/pseuds/loquaciousquark
Summary: A collection of mostly gen drabbles with a wide range of subject matter. Impermanence: Zuko wonders, sometimes, about the talismans they keep for themselves. Archived from original posting on fanfiction.net from 2007-2010.
Relationships: Aang/Katara (Avatar)
Kudos: 1





	A Study in Brevity

**Author's Note:**

> Archived from fanfiction.net. Originally posted between 2007-2010, for theavatar100 community on livejournal (now sadly defunct). I believe some of the drabbles that won those weekly challenges are marked.
> 
> This was neither re-read nor edited before posting. For archival purposes only.

**Title** : Delicious

**Word Count:** 122

**Summary:** let me tell you a tale of an eater-of-flesh

**Challenge:** #80 - Ravenous

**Author's Note:** These drabbles aren't in any particular order, but most of them were written for challenges on the avatar100 community on LiveJournal. If they were, they'll have the particular challenge mentioned.

\- -

Ages ago, when the world was newer, an eater of flesh found his way into the spirit world to beg a boon from the old ones.

The old ones grew displeased with him after a time, and so he was cursed with a dreadful hunger.

They punished him for his lust for the flesh- forever, his terrible, insatiable need for skin and muscle and bone would consume him entirely, until there was nothing left of the man-who-had-once-been but the chitinous shell of the insects and his very, very red lips.

And there he waits in the silence, in the bones, for the flesh to come to him, because he is so very hungry.

And the beautiful, bloody lips curve into a smile.

* * *

**Title:** Lifeblood

**Word Count:** 100

**Summary:** It's in her blood.

**Challenge:** #80 - Subsistence

* * *

When he came across her, she held an arc of water above her, fracturing the light into a thousand gleams across her face.

"Why can I do this?" Her words were soft. She twitched her fingers, and the light danced, caressing her cheeks.

"I don't know," he answered honestly. "GranGran doesn't either. It's just part of you." They stood in silence, watching the sunlight play across the water's surface.

She breathed. "It scares me, sometimes, how much I depend on this. If I lost it…" her eyes traced the sheet of water.

She clenched her fist, and it rained light.

* * *

**Title** : Decisions, Decisions

**Word Count** : 94

**Summary** : Two paths present themselves, and Mai makes a decision.

**Challenge:** N/A

\- -

Mai decides that the current situation more than makes up for the first few weeks of boredom.

"A two-year-old for a master earthbender? Doesn't seem like a fair trade, does it?"

Azula's voice rings mockingly in her ears, and Mai knows she has a choice. Save her infant brother's life and abandon Azula, or throw herself on the mercy of a merciless princess, forsaking her family and the noble routine she's had all her life.

Really, she thinks, there is no choice to be made.

"No, it doesn't."

And she springs to the attack.

* * *

**Title** : Agni's Child

**Word Count** : 415

**Summary** : Zuko stands at the end of his world.

**Challenge** : #92: I don't believe in you anymore.

* * *

Zuko was weeping (from his good eye, anyway).

The enormity of what he had done was setting in at last, and all he wanted to do was scream and strike out at someone and he wanted his mother there more than _anything_ because if she was there, he would not have just made himself the last of his house.

(stand up, boy, and look your father in the face, and see if you still have the strength to strike--)

(you're a _traitor_ , brother, you realize that you've killed everyone who loved you, everyone you've loved—you think that _boy_ will care for you because you've given him your strength, you deluded blind _TRAITOR--_ )

He shuddered into silence, the echoes of the word ringing in the recesses of his mind, branding him unclean. He wanted to vomit. He _had_ betrayed them, sacrificed his own blood for the ideology of a—of a little boy. Traitors were (used to be) thrown off the mountain under the guarded eyes of Agni's temple for crimes like these, the holy ground bearing witness that the disloyal were contaminated, tainted, imperfections in a perfect design. Oh gods, that was _him_ , dirty-- betrayer-- murderer—

The thoughts tumbled over each other senselessly, blurring with his tears and the ruined palace in front of him still belching black smoke, the only remnant of his confrontation with his--family, the legacy of the greatest ruling house of Agni's chosen people, utterly consumed in the god's chosen element. A thousand years of history vanished the instant he'd burnt his father's heart out, the instant he forgot to control his own heart (life is precious, nephew), and his flame-fingers had leapt free, blazing and feeding into themselves until the room was an inferno far beyond his control.

He'd been willing to die for his blasphemy (really, he simply couldn't force his feet to move, but it amounted to the same thing), but a cool little hand had wrapped around his wrist, an anchor to which his unsteady mind clung frenziedly, and it led him from the stench of death and smoke and blood into the clearer air of dawn.

The hand still rested on his shoulder, offering what comfort it could—the tattoos glowed in his peripheral vision. He took a breath, then two, drinking in every sight and smell and sound and taste of everything that was him, and then—

he breathed out long and slow—

and he turned to face a little boy—

* * *

**Title** : Atlas Shrugged

**Word Count** : 118

**Summary** : Aang comes to a decision.

**Challenge** : #88: Titles

* * *

A breeze swept by and he was gone with it, and he was leaving her—leaving everything—he'd never felt this light in his _life_.

He smiled broadly and took a step with the wind, and suddenly he was bounding through the trees, trunks flashing by him in brown blurs, and he leapt faster and higher and then he was through the tops of the foliage, and the sun was beating down on him like a living thing and it was so bright he cried, and he laughed until he couldn't breathe.

A moment passed, and he looked back towards the family—the world—he'd abandoned.

Eventually he shrugged, and the weight of the world fell away.

* * *

**Title** : And She Laughed

**Word Count** : 447

**Summary** : He doesn't protest when she pulls him from the life of the ballroom into the dark corridor...

**Challenge** : #90: The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock (a poem; the text I selected is italicized below)

* * *

_And I have known the arms already, known them all—_

He doesn't protest when she slips a hand in his and pulls him from the life of the ballroom into the dark corridor, even though her smile is too bright and her whispered adorations too sincere (even second sons are desirable as a stepping stone; he knows this from personal experience), and he wonders if maybe she's interested in more than his brother, but he doubts it.

_Arms that are braceleted and white and bare_

She's wearing too much jewelry for his taste, so he starts to pull it off. He flings it carelessly on the flagstones and it makes a clanking, tinkling noise— _something_ shattered—he wants her to _rage_ and she makes a noise of protest, but a moment later she's latched on to him like a wet sea rope, and all he can think is how very unsurprising.

An hour later she is spent and gone, her gilding collected, and he remembers little more than her whispers (my name is Lari, my lord, third daughter of your servant the lord Yanai). The perfume she uses lingers unpleasantly in his nose, jasmine mixed with must and sweat and rot. He is almost glad to return to the celebration, and he slips in between two courtiers who barely spare him a glance (but no one really notices the second son, anyway).

_But in the lamplight, downed with light brown hair!_

_It is perfume from a dress_

_That makes me so digress?_

He plans to slip through the dancers to safety, but just as he approaches the crowd, a girl missteps and they collide in a cloud of red silk and brown hair. He begins to mutter an apology, but it's drowned in her laughter, and as she flaps her scarf at him in breathless mock-reproval, he catches the scent of fire-flowers.

_Arms that lie along a table, or wrap about a shawl._

She pauses to re-wind the scarf around her neck, a flame licking at her throat, before she sweeps her bare arms out to her sides and falls into a dramatic curtsey. He can only see the top of her head and her white shoulders, and she can only see the pointed tips of his shoes, and they pause, a shaky moment drawn out past endurance until the silk and satin and red life brushing by them reminds them where they are.

_And should I then presume?_

"My apologies, my lord Ozai," she murmurs, her eyes darting up to catch his, and for some reason he is absurdly pleased that they still laugh. "My name is Ursa."

_And how should I begin?_

* * *

**Title** : The Hiding Place

**Word Count** : 148

**Summary** : A mischievous pair.

**Challenge** : #86 - Documents

* * *

"Where is it?!"

"How should I know?"

"You packed up the bedrolls last time—I know you took it!"

"What would I do with it? I'm blind, remember?" She cocked an eyebrow, and Sokka threw up his hands.

"Fine, but if I found out you took it, there _will_ be punishment. Oh, there _will be._ I'll—you—you just watch out!" He made a few threatening gestures, then stomped off in the direction of the river.

The moment Toph felt him enter the tree line, she smirked. "It's safe, Twinkletoes." A moment later, the airbender leapt from the far side of Appa and came to rest lightly next to her. Toph split the rock beneath her in half, revealing a book resting in a hollow cavity. Aang plucked the leather-bound volume from its resting place and cracked it open.

"Now, let's see…we had just started with Suki, right?"

* * *

**Title** : Sunset

**Word Count** : 70

**Summary** : It is noon in the Fire Nation.

**Challenge** : #72- Noon

* * *

The nation ascended in a blaze of glory, a swift rush of flame that left the world breathless and glowing with red beauty. They said it was the dawning of a new era, the era of Souzen, of Azulon, and of Ozai.

The sun rose on the people of fire. But the sun cannot rise forever.

It is noon in the Fire Nation, and the sun is starting to set.

* * *

**Title** : Ocean

**Word Count** : 117

**Summary** : It's like holding back the ocean, he thinks.

**Challenge:** #83 – Power

* * *

It's like holding back the ocean, he thinks.

It's the ferocious wildness inside him, seething and roiling and relentless as the tides, seeping in and filling every crack in him until he drowns. It wants freedom so violently, so desperately, and the winds scream around him _unlock the cage and be whole, be one with the ocean and the wind._ It's then he almost doesn't mind that it nibbles at his sanity, because he would be at peace and he would be whole and holding back the ocean is so very very tiring.

Instead, he smiles and seals his cage, and inside his eyes the lightning arcs and crackles and the storm rages, and rages, and rages.

* * *

**Title:** Point Counter Point

**Word Count:** 222

**Summary:** There is a soft noise as he slides his finger across the table. "Point."

**Challenge:** #88 - Titles

**Author's Note:** This challenge prompt was a list of titles of classical novels. I selected several titles, but for this one, I chose _Point Counter Point_ by Aldous Huxley.

* * *

There is a soft _shh-thk_ noise as he slides his finger across the table. "Point."

The room is dark and smoky, men half-heartedly listening to a poorly-played suungi horn in the center of the room, but somehow the _shh-thk_ cuts through the clatter of dishes and the drunken mumblings, a steady rhythm that everyone moves to without realizing it, even the suungi player, but no one cares to notice that it's coming from two little old men bending over a broken table in a corner.

_Shh-thk_. "Counterpoint."

The suungi horn is wailing now, mournfully limping towards something like a finale, and the men have grown louder to be heard over the noise, and it's only a _shh-thk_ , _shh-thk_ little breath of noise, but it's as constant to the men there as the air and the alcohol—it beats the life of the seedy little tavern, so when the two old men suddenly grow still, the silence of the corner is so jarring that the suungi horn peters away into nothingness and the men pause a moment, disoriented without knowing why.

Then the bustle of the tavern resumes a little uncertainly, and on a broken table in a dusty bar in the middle of nowhere, a blooming lotus on a cheap little game board unfolds and welcomes home the Dragon of the West.

* * *

**Title:** Conception

**Word Count:** 150

**Summary:** All good stories begin with "once upon a time."

**Challenge:** N/A

\- -

Once upon a time, when the world was younger and darker and wilder, the spirits walked in human form, shaping the earth and giving life to the four nations.

But one by one, they returned to the spirit world, and in their absence the earth fell into terrible chaos, and the gods planned its destruction.

But peaceful Pyoung-Hwa, who loved her children, stepped forward and said _I will live as one of them, dying and being born, and I will guide them_ , and the gods grieved, because to become mortal sacrificed her memories and exiled her from the spirit world forever.

But Pyoung-Hwa was determined, and she entered a mother's womb, and the child who was born glowed with wisdom. And she grew, and brought peace to the tired world, and when she died, Pyoung-Hwa remembered herself and prepared for birth again.

This is how the first Avatar was made.

* * *

**Title:** King

**Word Count:** 100

**Summary:** from _The Horse and His Boy:_ "For this is what it means to be a king: to be first in every desperate attack and last in every desperate retreat, and when there's hunger in the land (as must be now and then in bad years) to wear finer clothes and laugh louder over a scantier meal than any man in your land."

**Challenge:** #100 - The First

\- -

_To be first in every desperate attack--_

Sokka leads the charge. They think he just likes being important, but he knows he's the most expendable and he plans to draw their arrows.

_And last in every desperate retreat--_

"Down," he bellows, and when his stubborn sister doesn't move, he pushes her down himself and covers her because her anger is less important than the fire overhead.

_And laugh louder over a scantier meal--_

He always takes the least when food's scarce. When Katara notices, he's so obnoxiously touched that she snorts in disgust, but when she turns away he smiles.

* * *

**Title:** Little Girl Laughing

**Word Count:** 100

**Summary:** Azula, master.

**Challenge:** #97 - The Dance

\- -

No one understands why she practices during storms (two steps back and turn, sparks from her toes twisting up and around her, alighting in her hair—a crown of fire).

Mostly they claim she's testing herself-- fools. She's already mastered the sea. (a flame-line drawn from toes to sky, the rain on her cheeks catching the light, glittering and burning blue.)

The ship reaches the storm's heart. She smiles, stretching for heaven, electric fingers threading through the clouds, calling for their brother the lightning.

It always answers to her.

(little girl laughing, drowned in light, turning and turning and turning)

* * *

**Title:** Ritual

**Word Count:** 129

**Challenge:** #65 - half-sick of shadows

**Author's Note:** This is based on a scene from _The Storm_ where Zuko is alone in his room controlling the flames of four candles.

\- -

It is a nightly ritual, him alone, kneeling with the shifting shadows.

Breathe in.

One. For the nation. May the homeland be triumphant.

_(forever skirting its borders- no welcome here.)_

Breathe out.

Two. For those who lead us. May they guide us with wisdom.

_(suffering is the teacher, and pain, and darkness, and a futile chase.)_

Breathe in.

Three. For those who have left us. May they find peace.

_(open arms and sad eyes, and nothing but the sting of abandonment.)_

Breathe out.

Four. For those who are still with us. May they keep long life and health.

_(lightning and a stopped heart- not sure whose- and shadowed cousin-sons.)_

Breathe in. Breathe out. Expand. Contract.

It is a nightly ritual, simply him, and his candles, and his ever-present shadows.

* * *

**Title:** To Break a Bender

**Word Count:** 62

**Summary:** When you're an earthbending prisoner, you learn to survive.

**Challenge:** N/A

**Author's Notes:** Set during episode six, _Imprisoned._

\- -

When they first arrive, the coal deep in the belly of the ship calls to them, but no matter how deep they go it's impossible to bend, always _just_ out of reach. But the earth still beckons and the earthbenders know if they can't ignore it, they'll go mad with longing.

So they stop listening, and eventually they can't hear it anymore.

* * *

**Title:** Whisper

**Word Count:** 100

**Summary:** Sometimes, in the hushed stillness of night, he hears whispers in his winds

**Challenge:** #67 – the things I'll never say

\- -

Sometimes, in the deep hush of star-studded night, he hears whispers in his winds. The softest breath brushes butterfly kisses across his mind, ancient half-words gently murmured against his ears.

So he turns to see his family, fiercely branding his brain with their faces, scorching their voices into his very spirit.

But when Katara cracks a sleepy eye to ask if he's okay, he only smiles in response, because he's done this for a thousand thousand years; he doesn't tell her that when he ceases to breathe, she will only become another of the countless whispers on silent starry nights.

* * *

**Title:** The Harbinger

**Word Count:** 172

**Summary:** When they spoke of it at all, they spoke in whispers.

**Challenge:** #61 - stormy petrel (bringer of doom)

**Author's Note:** This was the first drabble I ever wrote. It involves a very (very) minor character from _The Blue Spirit._

\- -

When they spoke of it at all, they spoke in whispers. A white ghost, swift as a sea bird, flitting through passageways and through doors with only pawprints in its wake. They first thought it beneficial as pesky mice disappeared from the larder, but they soon learned to fear the four-legged horror; keys to cells mysteriously vanished, cells the Fire Lord told them contained dangerous prisoners.

Legend grew over the years of the white ghost with nine lives until it reached the ears of the Fire Lord himself. When the Fire Lord's personal aide arrived to investigate the disappearances, he was not impressed with the guards' tales of the beast—but only a hiss preceded the flash of white and claws that left the aide bleeding and screaming.

As punishment, Souzen had the guards beheaded. To remind his people of his authority, white became the color of death in the Fire Nation, and every cat in the country was killed.

All, that is, except one belonging to a little old herb lady…

* * *

**Title:** Tracing Time ( _or_ The Progress of a Bender)

**Word Count:** 164

**Summary:** The first time she bends, she is seven and sleeping, and when she wakes, her mother thinks she has wet the bed.

**Challenge:** N/A

\- -

The first time she bends, she is seven and sleeping, and when she wakes, her mother thinks she has wet the bed. Sokka tells everyone in the village- that _sealrat-_ and she spends the rest of the day sulking.

The first time she bends on _purpose_ , she is nine and Sokka has stepped on thin ice even though she warned him (she _knew_ , although she couldn't say how) and he has fallen through, and she is frightened and horrified and _angry_ above everything else, so she commands the water to give him back, and the water sees the ice in her eyes and obeys. She tells her mother, and she doesn't understand why her mother cries.

Now the little girl is seventeen, but the ice-eyes are much, much older. She stands on a smoking, scarred battlefield under stormy grey clouds and breathes deeply, and the clouds sigh with her, releasing a steady, cleansing rain that bathes the earth, and the world begins to heal.

* * *

**Title:** Numbered

**Word Count:** 100

**Summary:** Counting down to zero.

**Challenge:** #121 – Before this Hour is Wasted

\- -

This summer, there are one hundred and forty-three monks at the Southern Air Temple. Twenty-four are elders; twenty-two children. (Yesterday, there were twenty-three children, but one left.) These forty-six sit in six neat rows, the center of a circle of monks, breathing as one.

Forty-nine minutes before sunrise, the five oldest speak.

"We are ninety-seven strong," says one.

"They are ten thousand strong," says one.

"The winds are strong," says one.

For sixty minutes even, one hundred and forty-three monks meditate on life, and death, and fire.

Twelve minutes after dawn, there are zero monks at the Southern Air Temple.

* * *

**Title:** Under the Redder Skies

**Word Count:** 100

**Summary:** Aang, Ozai.

**Challenge:** #137 - Journey to the West

\- -

He's chasing the sun west.

It's their private game, just the two of them—every night the sun flees beyond the horizon, and every night he fixes his steps after it, fingers outstretched to be scorched. It draws him inexorably west, to the very edge of the world where its lord waits patiently under the redder skies.

One day, when the world ends, he steps into the sunset. He burns everything away; the ash settles and the western sun is tamed.

What then, when the game is won?

He breathes, turns east. Perhaps—he'll chase the clearer skies of dawn.

* * *

**Title:** there is a wheel that never changes

**Word Count:** 100

**Summary:** They are altered, and are not.

**Challenge:** #140 – Reinventing the Wheel

* * *

The spirits touch the great wheel, setting it spinning in a circle of shining light, and they say _so it will always be,_ turning and turning and turning,

water and earth and fire and air.

The wheel sometimes bears different faces at its center—here, one lives with the water and will not leave it; here, one courses over the clouds with a lighter heart—but in the revolutions that whirl each of them to life they are alike, bound in a thread that ties them in power and sacrifice.

They name themselves, but the spirits call it only Avatar.

* * *

**Title:** Impermanence

**Word Count:** 100

**Challenge:** #141 - out of the ashes

* * *

Zuko wonders, sometimes, about the talismans they keep for themselves.

Katara carries a flask of water at her hip so that she may never be defenseless again; Toph is lost without the earth under her feet. Aang is happiest when he's soaring on his glider—but it's _Aang,_ after all, and it takes more than grounding to make him unhappy.

They all keep their elements near their hearts, but what does he carry besides bitterness?

It doesn't even matter, he thinks, flicking the flame between his fingers, because in the end, fire always returns to what it came from: nothing.

* * *


End file.
